


Whims of a Charmed Quark

by madrabbitgirl



Series: External Planetary AU [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alien AU, Alien Sherlock, Alien universe, Alien/Human Relationships, Aliens, Alternate Universer, Canon Typical Violence, Creature Sherlock, Drabble, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, creature!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:27:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23166970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madrabbitgirl/pseuds/madrabbitgirl
Summary: “How long have you been standing there?” he asked.There was another pause.“Longer than you’d like."** External Planetary Remix! Same three prompts, swapped which one was extraterrestrial. Alien AU inspired by 3 Random Pinterest Prompts **
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: External Planetary AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1663078
Kudos: 45





	Whims of a Charmed Quark

**Author's Note:**

> ** Please read the tags **

He’d been waiting weeks to have the flat to himself. They’d been busy lately. Thanks to the blog, cases had been pouring in and he could never resist the call of the game, especially when there was a dedicated someone following him around, praising him at every opportunity. 

It was a novel experience, really. 

He picked up his bow, starting to play one of his original compositions. As the music flowed from his fingertips, his facade started to fade. Soft human skin turned smooth and tough, green speckles appearing at random. A greenish sort of glow emanated from his eyes and his nail beds, lighting the inside of his mouth. His eyes, although closed as he allowed emotion to infuse his music, were growing larger. He sighed in contentment.

“That was beautiful,” came the choked words as the song ended, a mixture of terror and awe in their tone. Sherlock nearly dropped his violin. He turned to stare wide-eyed at John, although that was probably a mistake and slightly more horrifying considering how big and black they currently were. He’d never before felt ashamed of his other self, but he knew that humans tended to react poorly to his appearance.

“You weren’t meant to be home until Tuesday,” Sherlock breathed. John gulped, dropping his duffel at the door.

“I couldn’t stay away. It was hideously boring,” John said. He shifted uncomfortably. “Are you- erm, what I mean is- um-”

“Eloquent, as always,” Sherlock snapped, turning away from John. He put his bow and violin back in the case for once, letting his human facade take over again. When he looked back at his flatmate, it was with his pale human eyes. John was glaring.

“Well, it’s not every day you see something like that, is it?” John replied harshly, furrowing his brow. “Sort of takes your breath away.” 

Sherlock froze, staring at John. “Takes your breath away?” 

“Yeah. I mean, it’s sort of stunning, really,” John offered, and it seemed like he was trying to smile. “I’m just, um…”

“Sit down, John,” Sherlock said. John nodded, but he was frozen to the spot. Finally, he just sort of crouched down and put his head in his hands.

“What was that?”

Sherlock slowly moved to kneel in front of him, observing but without touching him. “That was another facet of me. I should have warned you before you moved in. I did explain about the violin, after all.”

The joke worked, and John started to laugh, glancing up at his friend. “It can’t get any stranger than that, can it?” 

“I’m sure I could. Give me a minute,” Sherlock replied, letting his eyes light just for a moment. John’s breath quickened.

“No, no, that’s fine. It’s all fine,” John said with a shuddering sigh. Sherlock started to nod.

“When you say that-”

“I mean, it’s fine. It’s all definitely fine,” John said. He stood, reaching out to offer Sherlock a hand. “Have you eaten yet?” 

After John had eaten dinner and they were both settled in their chairs, Sherlock allowed himself to approach the subject again. “It won’t change anything.”

John nodded. “Well, I assume it will change some things. After all, if you know, you need to be alone to do-” he made a vague waving motion with his hand, “that, I understand. I might need some notice.”

“Will you be afraid if I don’t give you notice?” Sherlock probed. John shook his head. 

“No. I can’t say I wasn’t startled, but you’re so-” John shrugged, and struggled for the right phrase. “You’re so unnatural sometimes that it sort of makes sense. Honestly. It’s fine, Sherlock.”

Sherlock thought about that. John was certainly a singular human being. He knew John to be courageous and kind, but he’d also learned over time that humans changed when presented with the unknown. Even the bravest man could become a coward in certain scenarios. But here was his very own human looking at him with nothing but fondness in his eyes. “Thank you.”

John grinned. “You’re welcome.”

***

Sherlock didn’t handle John being injured very well. He looked down at the sleeping body on the bed feeling so many emotions he couldn’t quite comprehend which was a priority. He was angry that someone had touched his John. He was hurting because John’s body was in agony. He was guilty because he had purposefully led John to that scene knowing there was a high probability that the suspects would still be there and that they would be volatile.

He knew he shouldn’t be there. It was nearing midnight and visiting hours were well over. But he couldn’t bring himself to leave, either. Baker Street, without John, seemed cold and unwelcoming. It was as though the flat were missing it’s heart and no warmth would circulate until it came back.

He reached out and touched John’s hand gingerly, allowing little pools of green light to form under his fingertips as he scanned John’s injuries. He’d already been through the supposedly secure computer files in the hospital, but he needed to know for himself. Fractured rib, causing Sherlock’s own to ache. Concussion, headache, bruises under the left eye, almost broke the socket. (Suspect was in worse shape. John’s fists were a marvel.) Skinned knuckles and bruising. Sherlock winced and started to allow his abilities, small as they might be, to knit together a few small hurts. He couldn’t outright heal John, especially not in a hospital setting, but he could help.

“Sherlock.”

Fuck Mycroft. 

“How long have you been standing there?” Sherlock asked, turning to glare at his brother. Long enough that the door had opened and closed without Sherlock hearing it. Long enough that his brother had witnessed him attempting to take away some of John’s pain, but Sherlock had never really been adept at helping others. That was what he had John for.

“Longer than you’d like. You know what you’re doing is against the rules,” Mycroft replied. Sherlock looked him over, taking in the pristine three-piece suit and the posh umbrella that he was leaning on. To the outside world, Mycroft would look utterly flawless, however Sherlock could smell the lingering scent of cigarettes in the air around him and spotted the small bit of white powdered sugar on the edge of one pinky finger. Mycroft had also been worried.

“It is no less than what you would do for Anthea,” Sherlock stated. It was not an opinion, merely a fact. Mycroft inclined his head ever so slightly. 

“I’m merely pointing out the facts.”

“Well, don’t.” Sherlock returned to staring at John. “I’m not leaving.”

“You have no reason to stay. He wouldn’t want you to wear yourself out. You can return tomorrow.”

Sherlock shook his head. “Obviously, that’s not what I was talking about.”

Mycroft didn’t answer immediately. He gave a small, long-suffering sigh. “We will discuss that at another time, Sherlock. Do try to get some rest. You know how you lose control when you’re exhausted.” 

“Get out, Mycroft,” Sherlock snapped. He turned to glare at his brother with glowing green eyes. Mycroft just inclined his head and turned to exit. He closed the door gently behind him. Sherlock let his body relax slightly and then took up his vigil next to John again, staring intently at the sleeping face of his best friend.

***

“Stop it,” John said, snapping his novel shut and staring up at Sherlock with anger lighting his blue eyes. Hyperbole, lighting is a metaphor for the irritation in John’s demeanor, not lighting the way Sherlock could do. Sherlock almost dropped John’s cup of tea on his lap. “Get out. I don’t care what you need to do or where you need to go, but stop this.”

“Stop what? I’m-”

“Bringing me my eighth cup of tea? Yeah, no, what is wrong with you,” John said. He reached out and took the cup from Sherlock, setting it to the side before gripping Sherlock’s hand. “You haven’t left my side since I got out of the hospital. You’re pretending to be happy, but you’re going insane. Go get some cold cases, go to the morgue and cut up a cadaver, I don’t know, but you can’t keep doing this.”

“I’m fine,” Sherlock insisted. John shook his head. 

“It’s a few cracked ribs,”John told him. “Not much else. I’ll be alright on my own for a few hours. Or just ask Mrs. Hudson to listen for me if I need anything. Or, I’ll call you. I have a phone, that’s where they’re for.”

Sherlock started to shake his head, but then he thought better of it and sat down across from John. He perched on the edge of his arm chair, leaning forward to be as close to John as possible. “I don’t want to.”

“Sherlock-”

“No, I just don’t want to. I like…” Sherlock frowned. He was not good at this part. Mycroft had told him before that caring wasn’t an advantage, and he’d gone so long without practicing at the caring part that his skills were rusty, at best. “I like knowing where you are. The night you were injured, they made me leave, but I couldn’t stay away. I keep seeing-”

“Stop,” John said again. He kept Sherlock’s hand, but now he spread the detective’s fingers, linking them together. His blue eyes scanned Sherlock’s face. It looked as though he was about to protest, but then he said something entirely surprising. “I would be the same way if it were you. But, you have to take care of yourself as well. Like on the airplanes, yeah? Can’t help someone when you can’t breathe yourself.”

“Aeroplane,” Sherlock corrected. He nodded. “I’m still not leaving.”

“Well, then stop hovering, at least.” John gave Sherlock a little squeeze before releasing his hand and leaning back. 

“There’s nothing else to do,” Sherlock whined, giving John a teasing smile. It worked and John laughed, although that seemed to have been the wrong thing to do. 

“Shit, ribs, Sherlock!” John huffed, wiping his eyes.

Sherlock nodded and then rethought one of the phrases John had said. “You said it would be the same, for you. Does that- Are we perhaps- Would that mean-”

“Yes.”

“Since when?” 

“Since when haven’t, more like.” John fidgeted uncomfortably. For all the jokes that were made about Sherlock being cold and calculating, it was actually John that rarely discussed his emotions. Any of his girlfriends would agree. (Words Sherlock learned online - toxic masculinity- he would need to deprogram John to some degree as to society’s expectations.) “Is that alright? I know we’re-” He paused meaningfully and Sherlock had to stifle the urge to roll his eyes, “different, you know?” 

“Yes. It’s alright with me.” Sherlock had the good grace to blush like a normal human. He smiled. “More than.”

John smiled back at him. Sherlock would never stop seeing sun comparisons when faced with John’s handsome grin or gold tinted hair. Sherlock shifted to his knees in front of John, giving him the chance to say no, before he pressed his lips to John’s. When he pulled back, John ran a few fingers down Sherlock’s face, an indulgent expression on his face. 

“It’s fine,” John repeated. Sherlock smiled. 

Later, after Sherlock had made sure that John ate something and took his evening medication and they were safely tucked into bed in Sherlock’s bedroom (they would not need the second bedroom until John was properly healed when Sherlock would do his best to make the good doctor make all sorts of noise), did Sherlock think about the other implication of what John had said. After all, not too long ago, there had been a situation where Sherlock was injured and John had been taking care of him. It would be nice to know how John dealt with such a situation.

“I had to stay with you or I would have killed them,” John said simply. It was easier to be honest in the dark, with Sherlock curled against his back and an arm draped over his waist. 

“On a scale of one to ten, how bad-”

“A twenty. I would have killed them, Sherlock. Never doubt that,” John replied. He pulled Sherlock’s arm tighter. “Never doubt me.”

“I never have.”

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by these three random prompts on Pinterest:  
> “It can’t get any worse, can it?” / “Sure it can, give me a minute”  
> “How long have you been standing there”/”Longer than you’d like”  
> “On a scale of one to ten, how bad would it-”/”Twenty”
> 
> I originally wrote John as the alien in External Planetary Syndrome, but then I wanted to use the same prompts but with Sherlock as the alien so here you are.
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr](https://madrabbitsociety.tumblr.com)  
> or on [My Blog](https://www.madrabbitsociety.com/p/insta-links.html)


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